


The Lovers: The Scorpion and The Wolf

by Jean Genie (Su_Abeille)



Series: The Lovers [3]
Category: Penny Dreadful (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BDSM, Biting, Boys Kissing Boys, Dominance, Ethanessa, F/M, FIx It, Fluff, Genderplay, Gothic, Gothic Erotica, Gothic Romance, Horror, Kink, M/M, Mention of Ethan/Dorian, Oral Sex, Post Season 2 Fix It, Post-Season/Series 02, Post-Season/Series 02 AU, Power Dynamics, Power Play, Romance, Season 3 AU, Season 3 RetCon, Season 3 rewrite, Slash, Smut, Submission, Victorian, Victorian erotica, Victorian smut, Voyeurism, Werewolf Kink, Werewolves, Witches, Women in suits, corsets, girls in menswear, victorian romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-11
Updated: 2016-02-02
Packaged: 2018-05-06 02:07:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 18,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5398844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Su_Abeille/pseuds/Jean%20Genie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The wolf has its mate and the scorpion has its protector, they are free from the cages of darkness and able to fulfill every fantasy, every wish, every desire and maybe even something that neither of them dreamed possible for themselves.</p><p>Now that the finale has aired this has been re-branded as a Season 3 AU/Rewrite</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

There proceeded to be a series of moments that Vanessa never imagined would be a part of her future. Domestic moments especially, the little things that happened when you shared a home with someone. Cajoling Ethan into helping her make the bed each morning, even though he was more intent on unmaking it by kissing her and touching her until they were back on the sheets again. Sitting in front of the fire until late in the night, reading aloud parts of their favorite books to one another. Feeling a blanket being put over her when she fell asleep on the couch in the parlour. Teaching him the proper way to make tea. Sewing the button back onto his favorite coat.

She noticed the rather shabby state of his clothes and insisted that they go shopping to buy him some new things. She’d critically examined all of the tweeds and wool and silk pieces, knowing exactly what dark earth tones looked the best on him. She’d urged him to buy a beautiful wool coat with a soft fox fur lapel. He started a long speech about all of these roughnecks he had known who hunted buffalo and wore the hides and looked absolutely ridiculous. She’d stopped him before he could finish by standing very close to him and very slowly running her hands down the smooth fur while locking eyes with him. The story died on his lips, and when he was finally capable of speech again he asked for the coat to be wrapped up as well.

After this he had insisted that she buy herself some new clothes too. She was delightfully surprised when he told her that he would be going to the store with her. They were ushered into a private fitting room, and he sat in a big arm chair in the corner of the mirrored room, legs crossed, smoking, his eyes devouring the sight of her being dressed and undressed and dressed again by two sweet faced shop girls. With each dress, the girls would step back from her, and she would turn to him for his opinion, looking like Venus on the clam shell. When they put her in a white muslin gown with soft lines and delicate lace trim, she had become suddenly timidly.

“I don’t know, I’m not sure if it’s…” She’d stammered. He felt his heart ache with love seeing her in this pure shade, the pearly softness contrasting to the brightness of her cheeks.

“Darlin’ you look so beautiful. Like a slice of moonlight.”

The shop girls both audibly swooned at this, making him and Vanessa to laugh.

Then there she was, on a warm summer’s day sitting in a park with this handsome, good, strong man who loved her. He had surprised her, presenting a basket he’d filled with treats and a blanket for them to sit upon while they had their lunch. He looked so pleased with himself when he’d shown her that she had thrown her arms around his neck and kissed him.

They had thoroughly enjoyed their lunch and now she was sitting in the shade of a verdantly leafed tree.  Ethan lounged beside her, propped up on his elbow. The sunshine was bright around them as they fell into an untroubled quiet, watching the day pass them by. It was one of a series of instances where Vanessa would stop and look at where her life was and marvel.

Truthfully, she thought little of her future before she met Ethan. She never thought that she had a future, assuming that the darkness in her would eventually overwhelm her. The contrast of this moment to where she’d imagined her life to be was startling. Sometimes it felt like she was constantly being released from prisons of thought and expectations, each new moment with Ethan releasing her from some dark place.

Ethan moved to rest his head on her lap, stretching out, and closing his eyes with a replete look on his face. She smiled down at him, reaching out to stroke his soft brown hair, now long enough for her to run her fingers through. She devoured the sight of him laying so peaceful under her touch. She loved this man so much that sometimes when she thought of it, an ache squeezed her heart with the greatness of it.

She idly let her mind’s eye wander, passing through her fingertips and into his thoughts. In his repose, the inner walls of his thoughts, desires, fantasies were lowered. She felt like she was tiptoeing into a room she usually wasn’t allowed into, carefully seeing what was there.

She knew Ethan had done things sexually in his past that could be considered wanton. He had taken liberties with various women, with pleasure but also in an emotionally distanced way. It was more about the need being satisfied than any kind of a connection being made. She saw some of those experiences as she wandered these dark corridors of his mind, more interested in what he was doing than with whom. She wanted to know what things Ethan liked, for in her limited scope she didn’t know what to suggest they try. She didn’t want this to be something only he did. She wanted to have the power to initiate things, to provoke responses from him.

It was while she was lingering there that a bright flash of a memory appeared to her. She had seen this one before, back in a very dark time. This was something that before had been revealed to her by the demon trying to tempt her, where this time it was something she was actively seeking with loving intent.

It was Ethan, her strong wolf, bent under the grasp of beautiful Dorian. She felt Ethan’s pleasure in that moment, the rush of the unfamiliar. He was captive in this space, in the feeling of…

It was submission. Under the touch of this man, he had no control. He had ceded it to him, and was basking in the freedom of it.

She knew this feeling, the lightness, the safety in the sanctuary of it. She had felt it within his arms, when she gave herself over to him, when his voice was her guide, the rule by which she moved. It thrilled her to give herself over to him like this. It was like taking a step off a ledge and not falling. He was there to catch her, to let her float in his will.

Of course this was something Ethan had enjoyed. What she wondered, though, was it something that he would enjoy with her.

____

 

When he came home the next evening, she was waiting for him in the parlour. She was sitting in one of the chairs by the unlit fireplace in her petticoats and corset. She had one bare foot up on the grate, the strap of her chemise falling off her shoulder, her face and chest dewy with sweat from the heat of the summer day. In her hand she held a glass with a liberal amount of gin in it. She had an unreadable expression on her face when she told him to come into the parlour. She stopped him before he could walk to her.

“Take off your clothes and sit on that chair.” She said casually, her eyes on her glass as she raised it to her lips and took a long swallow.

She could tell that this took him off guard. He was still, regarding her for a long moment with a provocative smile on his face.

“Now, Mr. Chandler.” She said expectantly, her eyes holding his, unwavering in her determination. She waited for the beast to recognize the game, to respond to its mate’s play for power. She held his gaze until she saw it flicker, the wildness, and she knew that it had begun.

Still with a rather cocky grin on his face, he began to unbutton and remove his clothing. Once he was finally naked in front of her, he was already twitching with arousal. He sat in the chair opposite her and lounged back in it with no shame whatsoever, presenting his naked form and his already semi hard cock to her. She knew what he was doing. He was trying to incite a reaction from her. Her smooth expression gave away nothing as she looked upon him.

She leaned over then to open the box of Sir Malcolm’s Cuban cigars that she’d placed on the table next to her. She pulled out a beautiful thick dark cigar and passed it under her nose to savour its gorgeous smell. She put the cigar between her teeth, holding it there as she struck a match and lit the end of it. As he watched her pull on the end of the cigar, her lips wrapping around the tip, her cheeks hollowing as she sucked on it, he felt his arousal becoming more apparent. Again she tiptoed into that dark corridor and saw something, briefly, something he wanted. Her mouth and his cock and she was…

This was information she stored away for later, focusing instead on the task in front of her.

With the cigar finally lit, she leaned back, letting its thick smoke roll out of her mouth and he watched this slow sensual act with fascination. This mouth, those lips, they were the source of so much pleasure. Her voice brought him out of his musing.

“I want you to pleasure yourself.” She said coolly.

She wasn’t sure of the mechanics of such a thing, but she knew that it was something that she wanted to see him do. She wanted to watch him do it, wanted him to do it because she was telling him to while also allowing her the chance to see how it was done.

He held her gaze then, challenging her. She would not break, not look away. She refused to allow him to take control over the situation, over her or himself. She challenged the wolf, telling, not asking, for dominion. His eyes were dark, flickering. The beast was fighting the idea of submitting to her.

She raised her fingertips to the healing mark on her neck and ran them over the reddened skin. She reminded the beast that it was safe with her, that she was just as powerful as it was. His eyes flickered down to study the mark lovingly, and she saw his shoulders begin to slowly lower, his muscles start to relax.

He reached out his hand in front of himself and, still holding her gaze, spat into his palm. Her eyebrow quirked in reaction, the only slight disturbance of her even expression. He wrapped this hand around his partially erect cock, holding it at the base, then began to lazily stroke himself, up and down, the saliva slicking his grasp.

Vanessa felt a hot spark of desire flare up inside herself at this. This was so different from how women pleasured themselves. With women, it was so internal, such small quick movements. With him, it was a long gesture, a sweep of his hand down the stiffening length. She could see him growing harder and bigger in his grasp. She was enraptured by this unrestricted view of his arousal, of his body working itself up to climax.

It was when she heard him chuckle softly that she realized what was happening. Her enthralled expression was giving her away.

She was furious with herself for being so distracted. He had been purposely trying to pull the power back. This was unforgivable.

She tossed back the rest of the gin to calm herself, and when her eyes met his again, it was the scorpion who looked back. He felt a shiver dance through him at the coiled deadliness there, sharp, agile. He realized his folly too late, and now would pay for having tried to turn the tables.

“Stop.” She said in an icy tone. His hand only slowed, his fingers still running along his twitching erection.

“I said stop. Do not make me say it again.”

His hand stilled then. He was so close to coming that he had to grip the base of his cock hard to keep from climaxing. His breathing was rapid now, his nostrils flaring to pull in as much of her scent as he could.

She sat for a long moment, regarding him, not speaking or moving. Then she raised the cigar to her lips again and took a long pull of smoke into her mouth. Her eyes were locked with his, the beast trembling under the grasp as the smoke lazily drifted out between her lips.

“Tell me what you want to do to me right now.” She said in a tone that brokered no room for argument.

He snarled in response, but her answering growl was even more menacing.

“Tell me!” Her voice was sharp then, full of the ferociousness that he knew she was capable of.

It took him a moment to find his human consciousness, to suss out words from his primal mind. The words he did find were far from articulate.

“Fuck you.” He snarled. “Wanna fuck you.”

She pulled on the cigar, her face still registering no response as she slowly exhaled.

“And?”

He snorted with frustration, feeling the denied orgasm nipping painfully at him.

“Bite.”

“Bite me where?” She trailed her slim white hand over the delicate line of her collarbone. “Along my shoulder again?” Her hand moved down to the swell of her breasts pushed up by the corset, running her touch along the plumped roundness. “Or perhaps here? On my breast?” Then her hand moved down, pulling up her petticoat to expose her bare legs underneath. She gently touched the soft skin of her inner thigh. “I believe I would like it here.”

He let out a strangled groan, a sound more animal than man. Sweat was beading on his brow from the force of his control. The sight of her long fingers on the soft skin of her inner thigh, secretly where he loved to touch her the most, was his undoing. He had to come, he had to.

“Please.” It was soft and barely audible. This is what she’d been waiting for. This was the submission.

“What was that, Mr.Chandler?” Still her tone was cool, impersonal.

“Please.” It was almost a whimper from the pain of his restraint.

“Please what?”

He knew what he needed, and that she was the one who was going to let him have it. As a final act of submission, he dropped his eyes from her gaze.

“Please let me come.” He asked, pleadingly.

She smiled then, lovingly, so appreciative of his surrender.

“Of course, my love.”

____

 


	2. Chapter 2

Ethan began to see what Vanessa without her constant need to restrain and control herself was like. She was fearless, bold, curious. She approached all new things with no judgement. Her interest was so great, her enthusiasm for what remained uncharted in her life so freeing. She was hungry to greet the world, to study it and know it, to take into her razor sharp mind as much as she could.

He was more than happy to help satisfy her curiosity on whatever she was interested in. He answered her questions about all of the mysteries of the male world. She wanted to know what it had been like for him as a boy, how he’d been taught to behave. She asked what it was like to have the freedom to do whatever he pleased, to become whatever he wanted. When he countered this to tell her that he did not have a father who let him be whatever he wanted, she insisted.

“But you still became what you wanted, did what you wanted, no matter what your father said. This is something that women can not do. We are never given a chance to do what we want and be who we want to be. We’re told from birth what our role is and how to behave and must always adhere to that.”

He’d been struck by this, something he had never fully realized before. How must it have been for her, for all women, to be smart and curious and sexual and never be able to explore without fear of condemnation. He thought of his Van, so sharp and so clever, being raised to be docile, to be only a wife, trapped in a house with nothing to challenge her and he was filled with righteous anger.

She asked him about what sex felt like for him as a man, about what it was like to press himself into a woman, to penetrate, to be the one who went forth, who advanced into a woman’s most intimate place. She asked him why it was that men seemed so controlled by this need to invade, to push into a woman like this. She wanted to know what about this sensation, irregardless of the woman being penetrated, made men so crazed with violence that they could not stop despite what the woman wanted.

This broke his heart. He’d been unable to say anything in response, only to reach out and cup her head in his hand, to gently run his thumb along the barely there freckles on her cheek. The belittlement of women fed into men thinking that sex was their right, that it was something owed to them by creatures created primarily for this purpose. As a predator, as a creature that hunted prey, he became suddenly so aware of the danger that women were almost constantly in. He saw the threats, the intimidation, the fear of violence that kept women always in a state of fear. He thought of the abuse that Vanessa had suffered. She had told him about what they had done to her in that horror chamber that masqueraded as a hospital, of the blasting water, the ice baths, shaving all of her long beautiful hair off and drilling into her brain, all in an attempt to crush her spirit.

As he thought of this, he pulled her into his arms and held her close against him. Anger mixed with his deep sympathetic pain over how she had been treated, how she’d been beaten down by the world’s need to keep her in line, to punish and shame her for her desires. Of course these weak men were afraid of her. Now, in full possession of her own power, she was unstoppable. She could crush anyone who tried to hold her back. But the idea of her being so severely punished for having a will of her own made him taste his own bitter anger.

No shadow of that time lay over her anymore though. She beamed bright, her mind deep and full, her power growing each day. She watched and began imitating the things Ethan did with a sense of masculine confidence and ease. She sat with her knees apart, her foot up, lounging back in the chair. She cocked her hip when she stood, a wide stance with her hands on her hips as she faced the world. She smoked cigars and drank whiskey straight and took the world in as if she was doing it a favour in acknowledging it. She took on this feeling of entitlement, approached those around her with an assurance of self that brokered no argument.

God, he loved to watch her move like this. As she was walking across the street to meet him at a cafe where he waited, he watched two sailors lean over and, with lewd grins, say something to her that he couldn’t make out. He watched with a mixture of pride, arousal and smirking delight as she stopped and turned slowly to meet them both in the eye. Her face wasn’t stern or disapproving, it was amused, as if she was looking at some dim witted animal. She said something then that made both of the boys wilt, cheeks drained of color, and then resumed her confident stride to him. She would not tell him afterwards what she had said, but judging by the look on those faces he knew she’d spoken as a free man would, as someone who knew the immensity of their own power and would never again be made to feel shame.

It wasn’t that much of a leap, he supposed, when the following week he had come into the house in the evening to find her sitting on the stairs, waiting for him in a man’s suit, her hair up and hidden underneath a hat. He had closed the door slowly and then leaned back against it to take her in.

She was an ever unfolding mystery, his Vanessa. She regarded him from under the brim of the dark felt of her hat, sitting back to rest on the stairs on her elbows, her legs open, her feet firmly planted. She was wearing a loose fitting shirtwaist of pale gold silk, a man’s shirt and silk cravat with a slim cut coat and pants and a pair of shining leather oxfords. Her shape was hidden, and combined with the boldness in which she sprawled, she read as a beautiful, cocky boy, one whom was looking at him with open sexual interest.

“You look mighty fine in your fancy suit, darlin’.”

“Thank you, Mr.Chandler. I feel mighty fine, as you say.”

“Am I to assume that our good doctor is missing one of his suits this evening?”

“Gladly lent, I assure you.”

“I do wonder what the man thinks of the use you intend to put it to.” His mouth quirked at her. “I can’t help but wonder myself.”

“All questions will be answered in due time.” She stood up then, and with loose hips and a boyish swagger in her stride, went over to him. She put herself close to him, invaded his space, while placing a hand next to him on the door. She lifted her chin to let her gaze wander over him with the look of a predator appraising and deciding what she wanted from her prey.

“I intend to take you to a gentlemen’s club this evening.”

She had told the driver where to go, a place in London he knew nothing about. When they got out, they walked the dark, close streets for another fifteen minutes or so until she gestured him over to an unmarked door on the side of a closed store. She knocked once, then three times, then once again and they waited. Ethan watched all this with great amusement, wondering just what she had planned.

A small window opened in the door, and a pair of eyes appraised both of them. Vanessa dropped the shadow of the brim of her hat over her face, looking down the road with disinterest. After a moment the window slammed shut and the heavy door creaked open, letting them into the establishment.

Once inside, it took Ethan a little while to make out where exactly they’d stepped into. It was thick with smoke, with the tinny noise of a piano and a guitar somewhere in the murky depths of the room. There were tables of people arranged around the room, with a bar to the corner. This was nothing unusual. It wasn’t until Ethan really looked at the patrons that he realized where they were. It was all men, some in formal wear fresh from a society event, with beautiful young boys, dandies, as slim and beautiful as Vanessa was in her suit next to him. The couples were engaged in intimate conversation, while others hung by the bar and watched.

“Expecting a different kind of gentlemen’s club were you? I’m sorry, darlin’” She grinned, imitating his draw, “Maybe next time.”

She went forward on her own and sat at an empty table, gesturing to the barkeep with two fingers for drinks. This was a reminder for him to always be on the ready with Vanessa, to keep himself always alert for the next thing she would do because in a moment like this, surrounded by all this display of a covert part of male sexuality, she was watching everything, including him.

He sat down at the table with her, lounging back in his chair with ease.

“Now how does a fine lady like yourself know about a place like this?” He said in a beguiled voice.

“I see no ladies here, Mr.Chandler.” She stated, smiling. “I do see, however, a young man who seems interested in joining us at our table for a drink.”

She gestured with an uplift of her chin to a beautiful boy sitting at the end of the bar, openly smiling at the both of them.

“Seems to me that we both have caught his eye.” Ethan’s eyes traced over the boy’s slim frame and there she was, the slight tickle of her presence inside his thoughts. He knew then what she was doing, what she had found in him. His eyes focused on her, on the feeling of her inside him, and he opened all of those thoughts, of the rush of sensations he’d felt that night with Dorian, he showed it all to her. He watched as this all washed over her, her eyes closing at the pleasure rolling through her from him.

“What is it that you desire, darlin’?” He purred to her.

“I want to watch you kiss that beautiful boy.”

A series of ever unfolding mysteries indeed.

“Do you? Well then, let’s ask him over her and see if that’s what he wants as well.”

Ethan caught the young man’s gaze and gestured to the empty chair at their table. The boy’s answering cocky grin made the flicker of desire that had formed in him burn brighter.

“Hullo gentlemen.” The young man greeted them as he sat. “First time?”

“Speaking for myself, yes, though I’m not sure about my friend here’s experience.” Vanessa said, smirking at Ethan.

He didn’t know if it was the idea of Vanessa wanting to see him kiss another man, or if it was the idea of kissing this boy with a lush full mouth, red like rubies, or a combination of the two, but he was hard already. He looked at these two sets of eyes as they devoured the sight of him, appraising him with frank sexual interest, her gaze just as lustful as the boy at her side. He knew that he was being circled as prey, and that it was time to stand his ground and face these two.

“Actually, no, not my first time. Here, yes, but not in a gentlemen’s club such as this.” Ethan took the glass of whiskey that the barkeep had placed in front of him and took a long swallow, holding Vanessa’s gaze as he did. Delighted surprise danced across her face.

“Then you’re an old hat at it, Mister - ?” The boy asked.

“Chandler. Ethan Chandler.”

“Are you an American?” The boy asked, excited. “I’m dying to go to New York. Some of the things I’ve heard, the freedom and the opportunity, it’s perfect for me.”

“You’ll love it. It’s exactly as you imagine, only louder and with more people.”

They spent the evening with this young man, Ethan answering his questions about America, about what California was like, about places that you could get work, about what the ocean looked like under a hot sky. Vanessa watched as the boy fell for Ethan’s charm, much as she had. Ethan’s natural charisma, his humour, his story telling, how at ease he made those around him feel, it was like watching a spell being cast. Vanessa watched as their young friend became enraptured by him. When he asked what had brought them to the bar that evening, Ethan grinned at Vanessa.

“My friend here bet me that no one would want to kiss me tonight.”

“Seems you’re on the losing end of that bet, sir.” The young man said to Vanessa, winking. “I already know of some gentlemen who want to.”

“And who might that be?” Ethan asked him.

“Well, your friend here, for start.” The boy smiled at Vanessa, then looked back at him. “And me, of course.”

“Really?” Ethan smiled and leaned towards to him, voice dropping to a low tone, inviting.

“Truly. I’d like to be able to tell all my friends that I kissed a yankee.”

“Well, I am happy to oblige you then, young man.”

There was that tension, that moment before you kiss someone for the first time, when the anticipation of the kiss is mixed with the logistics, of who will kiss whom. Vanessa watched it all with rapt attention, missing nothing. Ethan could feel her eyes on them, could feel her presence again in his mind, experiencing the rolling desire inside him and mixing it with her own. They both knew in that moment what they wanted, and he acted on it, taking the boy’s chin and tipping that beautiful, lush mouth up to his. Ethan kissed him softly at first, feeling the light brush of stubble under his fingertips, the scent of the boy in his nose, the ripeness of the lips captured by his. He kissed him again, longer, pulling the boy’s bottom lip into his own mouth, sweeping his tongue over it. Vanessa’s desire spiked within him and they felt all of this together.

When Ethan sat back in his chair, the boy stayed frozen for a moment, eyes still hooded, cheeks flushed. He blinked away the last remnants of the kiss and grinned at Ethan, then over at Vanessa.

“Looks like you lost your bet, mister.” He said to her.

“Somehow I don’t feel as if I have lost.” She responded with a grin.

____

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

They spent the rest of their evening with their young friend, Vanessa paying for their drinks and watching, experiencing all of the energy around her. This place was a side of masculinity she’d never seen before. There was such a mix of pleasure and shame, it made her realize that this was one way that the male mind experienced something like what a woman’s did, the feeling of punishment for wanting to explore the sexual part of themselves. In this place, though, they were free. Amoungst others who were like them, who understood what they wanted, they were able to experience this desire without the shame, to delight in it.

This was so like her own struggle, not just with her sexual needs, but as one who is different from all of those around her. Here was a gathering of people who, everywhere else in life, felt like an outsider, felt keenly how different they were from everyone and was isolated by it. But in this place, they were not alone. They had found that there were others like them and in that, they’d lost that loneliness and found a community.

This was what it had been like when Sembene, Sir Malcolm, the doctor, Mr. Clare, even Dorian had come into her life. She’d found kindred souls, others like her who knew of things beyond the masses, who had experienced the pain of loneliness, the feeling of seeing all that others do not. This was what she felt with Ethan, that he was like her, strong, sharp, a survivor. He had given her a sense of belonging, a sense of home.

Vanessa had another motive for coming to this establishment that evening. She asked the young man to accompany her to the bar for a moment.  Once they were alone she gathered what it was she wanted to know, her questions generously and openly answered. When they sat down again, they both looked at Ethan with their shared secret.

“What do I not know?” He asked, cocking an eyebrow at both of them.

“I have a feeling all will be revealed soon enough.” The young man answered.

They shared one more drink before this beautiful boy who had entertained them with his enthusiasm and charm all evening said his good night. He pulled Ethan to him by his lapel and kissed him one more time, resoundingly. 

“I’ll see you out West, cowboy.” He said with a laugh as he walked away from a rather dumbfounded Ethan. Vanessa laughed with the boy at his befuddlement.

“I believe you owe me some money for that lost bet, sir.” Ethan smirked at her.

“I don’t seem to have any money left. We’ve drank it all away, I’m afraid.”

“Well then we best be going before the barkeep finds out and tosses us out of here.”

They went out into the cool air, adjusting to the dark of the night on a street with no gaslight. As he was trying to remember which way they had come, he felt her grab his arm and pull him behind the building.

“Vanessa, what are you-”

“Shhh.” She put her finger to his lips to silence him, then pushed him back until they were hidden in the shadows, his back against the brick wall. She pressed up against him and began kissing him deeply.

She kissed him the way that he’d kissed the boy, with a mixture of unfettered desire and masculine dominance. He felt himself start to grow immensely aroused at this, at being so met by her unabashed desire and power.

Just as he began to lose himself in the sensations of their kissing, she pulled away. She met his eyes then, in the dark, wordlessly telling him with her gaze that he was not to move, to not stop her.

Her intentions became clear quickly as she reached down to undo his pants. He stayed still, as she wanted him too, though he had to fight against almost all of his instincts. He trusted her in this moment, and wanted, more than anything else, to follow her on this trip into the unknown.

She went down on her knees in front of him then, working his pants aside enough to pull his now semi hard cock free. It was warm in her hands, the skin was so soft, unexpectedly so. This was the first time she’d been this close to the male anatomy and, like with all other things in the world she encountered, she took in as much information as she could, studying and contemplating.

In this silent study, she ran her thumb over the slit at the end, causing a strangled sound to come from Ethan. She took in this piece of information about his sensitivity and then ran her palm along the underside, feeling his cock now pulsing and hard in her hand. It seemed impossibly hard, underneath the smooth skin, and so hot with blood. The visceral feel of it, its heat, the aggressiveness of its upward thrust, it was so unabashed. This was the root of a man’s confidence, his cock standing high, seeking what he wanted. This was how she would go about the world, with her power as her erect cock, unafraid of her desires.

With this, she proceeded to set about using the tips that she’d procured from the young man. She gripped him at his base before wrapping her lips around him, sucking in her cheeks and pulling her mouth down his length slowly.

He made an animalistic moan at this, his hands shooting out to hold her head still, stopping her. She pulled back, releasing him from her mouth and looked up at him. His eyes were glazed with desire, but she managed to get him to focus on her long enough to see the intent in which she took each of his hands from her head and placed them against the wall. With that she went about her task again.

She took him into her mouth, sucking in, moving her mouth up and down his stiff length. She moved on him slowly, so slowly at first, then faster. She cupped her tongue along him to add to the suction, to make him feel it even though. He was close, she could feel it. His hands fluttered, desperate to tell her but he did not try to stop her as she had told him to.

She knew what was going to happen and was ready. She pulled on his length one last time, and then just barely grazed her top teeth over the tip of his cock. But this wasn’t what he wanted, what he knew she wanted as well. Right on the cusp of his climax, Ethan held back. He released himself from her mouth and bent to grab her under her arms to stand her up in front of him. She kissed him, let him taste himself in her mouth. This inflamed him beyond reason, feeling his mark on her in an entirely different way. Half out of his mind, he turned and slammed her against the wall. He yanked her pants down, and she, just as frantically, stepped out of them. He lifted her up and she wrapped her legs about his hips and her arms around his neck. Bracing her against the wall, he positioned himself and thrust his cock up into her.

He fucked her against the wall hard, thrusting so deep into her that they both grunted with the force of each impact. She angled her body so he drove right up against the spot in her that felt like she was a live electrical wire. She felt the brick, hard and rough, behind her, smelled the mix of their arousal and sweat, listened to the sound of their gasps and moans, and was high on the mixed power of their desires.

“Fuck!” He called out as he drove into her, slamming her back into the wall as he came. He quickly felt her convulse around him, calling out his name as she did.

____

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

They had slowly been exploring the house now that they were alone in it. The first place that he wanted to know about was the ballroom. She stood with him in the doorway of the room thick with dust and shadows and memories and told him about what this place had been like in what now seemed a lifetime ago.

Her and Mina’s coming out ball had been in this beautiful room. Whenever she had come to the city as a girl she stayed in her family’s London home, now long since shuttered and sold. She didn’t actually come to this house until that summer when she and Mina were to come out into society.

She explained to him this rite of passage for a British upper class woman, of the long held tradition of the debutante ball, a way of introducing a young woman to London society as eligible for marriage. He balked at this, calling it a dog and pony show dressed up with silk and lace. She insisted that it wasn’t so, at least not for her.

Her and Mina had planned for their coming out ball since they were young girls. They always planned to share a coming out ball, because they couldn’t imagine doing it separately. They had designed and re-designed their dresses dozens of times as they got older, always inspired by descriptions of what the ladies in London were currently wearing. They play acted it over and over, each being the other’s swooning beau who came and swept them off their feet. It was always this to Vanessa, a game of pretend. It wasn’t until the actual night that she realized how real it actually was.

She described to him how once they got to London for the season there had been weeks of preparation. She had been fitted and refitted for her dress so many times that she had perpetual needle pricks in her sides. Mina and her each changed their minds at least a dozen times about how to wear their hair and exactly what kind of accouterments to decorate it with. It had been an all consuming business, this fun of getting ready for their ball.

The night of the ball was a rush of bright lights, gorgeous dresses twirling, music, and the happy voices of all who attended. She had danced and danced until the sun rose, her feet bleeding in her dainty satin slippers. It had been dizzying, the spectacle of all of it to her country girl eyes. Vanessa had spent most of the evening dancing with Peter, teasing him and making up ridiculous nicknames for the older gentlemen at the ball with their mutton chops and drooping mustaches. It took her a while to realize that Mina wasn’t joining them in this play making. As the night had gone on she watched Mina do things that she wasn’t doing. She saw Mina, with such natural ease, charming the young men orbiting her, being the perfect mix of bashful and alluring. She watched as these men asked for dance after dance, until, by the end of the night, it was only Captain Branson who held her in his arms on the parquet floor.

This wasn’t play acting for Mina. This was a real coming of age moment for her. Vanessa watched as her girlhood friend slowly turned away from childhood and took on the mantle of maturity.

Vanessa couldn’t go on with her story after this, turning away from the room and its ghosts. Ethan had not pushed her for more, rather closed the doors to this place, and ushered her away with a supportive arm around her waist.

They had gone back into the parlour and she’d curled up next to him, feet tucked up on couch, his arm around her. She was quiet for a long time, looking into the fire. He knew she was working through all that happened after that night, trying still to make amends in her heart for what her cruelty had destroyed. This was not something that he could do for her. This was her own peace to achieve. They sat there well past the supper hour, until finally he insisted that they eat something.

He’d always been worried about her appetite. She was so tiny that even a week of too small or missed meals would make her look frail. He knew that when she was stressed or anxious, which had been very often, that she lost any hunger she might have had. He had watched her pick distractedly at her dinner with little interest many times. Before, when there was the distance between them, he had clenched his teeth to keep himself from insisting, cajoling, begging her to eat more. Since they’d come together, though, he had made it one of his goals to get her to eat as much and as often as possible. Most of the time he had to act like this wasn’t his goal. He had to be clever and very cunning to trick that sharp mind of hers into realizing that food could be another source of delight in her life. He started with the one indulgence he knew she could not deny herself.

Every morning he had some rich, creme-filled dessert delivered to the house. Once he was able to untangle himself from her very inviting embrace, he went to the kitchen where it waited and bought it up to her. He sat on the bed with her until she’d eaten at least two generous slices of whatever menagerie topped, chocolate dipped, ganache covered delicacy he brought her. He watched with a deep satisfaction at how she would tuck into these treats, watched her become blissed out on all of the richness and sweetness.

Getting her to go out to restaurants was another cunning way he’d gotten her to eat better. The first time he ordered for them he'd asked the waiter to rustle up the finest, fanciest bit of food they had back in the kitchen. She had smothered her laughter into a napkin pressed to her mouth when the horrified waiter left them.

“My love, perhaps next time you should read the menu and make it more clear what it is you want.” She suggested gently.

“Well, I would but it’s all in another language.” He grinned at her. “Besides, I wouldn’t know a bull’s testicle from a frog’s leg, what with my crude American palate.”

Him saying bull’s testicle in the fanciest French restaurant in London made laughter came out of her before she could stop it.

Playing dumb had worked out the way he’d hoped it would. The next time they went out, she looked at him with assured confidence, and proceeded to order in perfect French, and they were served an exquisite three course meal.

One evening when he told her that he planned on making them their supper, she’d raised a dubious eyebrow.

“I am almost afraid to see what comes of this ‘supper’ as you so charmingly call it.”

“This is going to be a supper, darlin’. Not some perfectly arranged plate with one bite of meat on a little drip of sauce. A big heaping American supper, like I had growing up.”

He had spent most of the day searching London for spices, any spices, like the ones back home. Most of the places he’d gone to had no idea what he meant when he asked for chili powder, cayenne pepper, cumin seeds. When they did know, they more wanted to ask him about what they were, because it was something that they had heard of but never tasted.

Finally, in desperation, he’d gone to an apothecary, who referred him to a botanist. He finally returned home with two precious jalapeno peppers in a clay plant pot. He spent most of the next day in the kitchen in his apron, preparing all the ingredients and then stirring it all in a big pot as it simmered. The whole house was filled with the most appealing and unfamiliar smells, spicy, warm, savoury. Finally that evening he brought her into the kitchen and sat her at the work table there. He placed a bowlful of chili con carne in front of her, handing her a spoon and told her to be careful, that it was hot, and not just in temperature.

“I’m not sure how you’re going to like the spiciness but I have a feeling the sensation of it is going to appeal to you.”

He was right. The bite of the peppers, the sharpness of the burn of the spice, it was like eating fire. She’d never experienced a taste like this, intense, all encompassing. She loved it. The comfort of this unpretentious food eaten in the honesty of the kitchen at the rough wooden table took away the rigidity and restraint that she had always had to endure during dinners. Here she was free to eat and eat and eat without fear of bad manners or condemnation for being gluttonous.

He was filled with such joy and such pride watching her devour this meal he’d made, asking for more once she’d scraped her bowl clean. From then on he made more and more of their meals for them at home, simple meals, stews, soups, even biscuits and flatbread. They would sit together in the kitchen and eat their supper, relaxed and informal. Each cleaned plate was a little breath of relief for Ethan. He watched as her face looked less gaunt, felt her bones not press so sharply against her skin. Seeing the flare of her hips newly shaped made him giddy with delight. All of her curves were filling out, her body becoming lush and full. He had helped to take away the frailness of when she had been tormented and replacing it with the softness of contentment and happiness.

____

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

“What’s that room at the end of the other hallway?” He asked one morning as he was watching her get dressed.

“I don’t rightly know. I’ve always assumed it was a study or an office. I know that it isn’t a room for ladies because Mina and I were forbidden to enter it.”

“Well aren’t you dying of curiosity now?” He said, grabbing her hand and pulling her to the mysterious door.

He opened it gingerly and peaked in, then turned back to wiggle his brows at her.

“I don’t know if this is something for a lady like yourself to see, darlin’.” He dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “It’s positively scandalous.”

“What do you mean?” She pushed past him, unheeding, into the room. Her eyes adjusted to the shuttered darkness to make out a billiards table. She turned around just in time to see him laughing.

“Scandalous indeed, Mr. Chandler. I don’t know if my virtue will ever recover.” She said, flippantly.

“You have to admit that it’s a little disappointing.”

“What were you expecting to find in here? The heads of past wives?”

“At least a nudie picture of two.” He looked at the shelves of books along the wall. “Though I think that may be in here as well.”

“Looking at more of these books of Sir Malcolm’s might prove to be a little too Greek drama for me.” She turned to the table, running her fingers along the dark felt.

“Would you like me to teach you how to play?” He asked her.

“You know how?”

“Of course, darlin’. I did grow up in the land of saloons, where these tables are practically a prerequisite, along with a player piano and a pistol under the bar.”

“Many scandalous nudie pictures on the walls of these fine establishments, I assume.” She smirked at him.

“None quite so enticing as the real thing.” He said in his most flirtatious tone. She laughed at this, while also blushing slightly at the flattery. That blush is how he knew that his charm was working, and that he could proceed with the plan just forming itself in his head.

“Let’s say this, Miss Ives. I’ll show you the basics of how to play and we can have a game together.”

“And what will the winner of this game receive as their reward?” She smiled puckishly up at him.

“How about we say that the loser has to do whatever it is the winner wants them to do.”

“Much as in life, then.” She quipped. “Challenge accepted, Mr. Chandler.” She turned to the table. “Do you hit the black ball first?”

He bit back his grin at this, feeling victory already in his hands.

He showed her the mechanics of the game, how to hold the cue, the goal of pocketing all of the balls with the black one last. He took great pleasure in laying himself over her bent form in order to show her how to let the cue slip loosely through her fingers. Once she had been able to hit a few balls around with moderate skill, the game began. He flipped a pence, calling out heads and winning the coin toss to go first.

He proceeded to take out three balls with practiced skill, walking about the table with a cocky grin. He would have sunk the fourth if it weren’t for the sudden feel of her beside him, brushing her fingers along his flank and making him shudder, the cue in his hand becoming slack and missing the ball entirely. When he’d looked back at her, the look on her face with alight with impishness.

“What a shame, Mr. Chandler.” She tsked. “I suppose it’s my turn now.”

As it had with shooting and almost everything Vanessa did, the ability to play pool came completely natural to her. Her steady eye-hand coordination gave her an instant adeptness. He stood back and watched, awe struck, as she sunk one ball after another after another. She was smiling to herself with the ease at which she was able to play. She started to take her time lining up each shot, offering him the perfect opportunity to admired her bent over the table. She caught his predatory gaze over her shoulder and her grin got decidedly more wicked. She looked back at her shot and seamlessly pocketed the eight ball to win the game.

With this, she turned and stood proudly holding the cue next to her, like a successful hunter.

“So,” She said giving him a long appraising look. “Anything I want?”

“Seems so, Miss Ives.” He felt his arousal at this prospect starting to pique. “What is it that you want?”

“I believe I would like you to do what it was that you were planning on doing to me when you set up this competition thinking that you were going to win it.”

Of course she had known all along. There was very little he could get past her. She was even keen enough to know that he had done this in order to have the freedom of an unrestricted dominion over her.

He took the cue from her hand and, with his, put them back on the rack on the wall. He came back to her then, pressing her up against the table with his body.

“Take off your knickers.” He said.

“Why I even bother to wear them at all, I do not know.” She smirked at him as she reached under her skirts to lower them.

“I don’t know either, darlin’.” 

“And now?” She asked.

“Turn around.” She did as told. “Now up on the table on your hands and knees.”

This warranted a look over her shoulder, an eyebrow raised, archly smiling at him. Meeting the growing desire in his eyes with her own, she turned back to the table and, moving her skirts out of the way, crawled up onto it, her knees on the ledge, her backside towards him. She felt his hands traveling up her legs, slowly pushing her petticoats and skirt up to rest on her lower back, fully exposing her in the most obscene way to his eyes from this new vantage point.

She felt his hand on her back then, below her shoulder blades, gently pushing her upper body down to the felt of the table. She moved under his touch like she was a doll for him to position how he wanted. She felt quick darts of arousal thrum through her body, making her skin hum with anticipation. In this position, so bared to him, she waited for what he was going to do, unsure what was next.

She felt his fingers pressing her open, exposing the most sensitive part of her. Then, with little delay, she felt a long sweep of his tongue along her, pressing deep inside her. She cried out hoarsely at the sensation, more overwhelming than ever before as she was so much more open to him now. It was a blinding wave, like being touched by the hottest fire. He did it again and again, a long pass, over and over. Her brain was overloaded with the level of stimulation. There was something about the isolation of being pressed to the table, without being able to see what he was doing to her that made the sensations of what was happening sharper, more physically present than ever. She let out sobs of pleasure at the wantonness of this position, of being so indecorously displayed to him, of the feeling of his tongue and lips flicking and pulling at her oversensitive clit. Suddenly there was light jolt of pain, his blunt teeth running over it and she came undone with no preamble. She was coming so quickly that her mind wasn’t able to keep up, shouting out her orgasm with surprise.

Before she could even fall off the cliff of her climax, he was scooping her up from under her shoulders to move her legs back to the ground, keeping her bent over the table. Then he was there, thrusting into her, into her soaked, still convulsing pussy. Her cheek rubbed against the rough felt, and her hands scrambled for something to hold on to.

This feeling, this position, it was like being taken by the beast, but so different. Where then they would be on the dirty floor of the cellar, there was the fine oak billiards table. And this wasn’t a beast behind her, thrusting into her with groans of pleasure, this was a man, her Ethan. Being taken like this, in such an animalistic fashion, in such a posh and dignified room, made her lust even deeper, and soon, as he ground down his orgasm, she followed, coming again around him, her cries of pleasure mixing with his.

____

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

They’d agreed to meet in Hyde Park at two o’clock but he’d gotten lost. He was still slightly daunted by the chaos of London with the seemingly organic way the city was laid out. By the time he got to the park it was half past. He was supposed to met her at the north entrance but when he arrived she was nowhere to be seen. He wandered into the park in search of her.

He walked passed a beautiful woman sitting alone on a bench. She was wearing an exquisitely tailored day dress and jacket with a high, cream coloured hat and a sheer blue veil wrapped about her face and neck. She was reading a small, navy blue bound book, sitting with her back straight, her delicate white net gloved hand holding the book before her. Her skin was pale, almost as pale as the dress she wore, and there was an intricate knot of black hair tucked underneath the gathering of the veil high on the back of her head.

He went up to her, tipping his hat as he got her attention.

“Excuse me, ma’am, I was wondering if you might point me in the direction of the north entrance. I’m a visitor to these parts, you see, and I seem to have lost my way.”

She looked up at him with pale blue eyes, clear and sharp.

“The north entrance is the way you came, sir.” Her tone was polite but slightly offish.

“I thought that was where it was.” He stood there for a moment, watching as she looked back at her book. “It sure is warm today. I heard that London was always rainy so I’m afraid I didn’t bring any of my lighter clothes.”

“You have the misfortune of being here during the one week of summer weather we have all year.” Her eyes glanced up at him from her book. He took this opportunity.

“Do you mind if I sit here next to you for a moment? Just to cool down before I do anymore exploring.”

A ghost of a smile fluttered over the veiled face and she gestured to the beach. He sat down with an exaggerated sign, angling his body to face hers.

“Ethan Chandler, ma’am.” He extended his hand to her. She looked at it incredulously, then up at his charming grin. Still with a rather cool tone she answered.

“Miss Vanessa Ives.” She said, gently placing her small hand in his.

“Pleased to meet you, Miss Ives.”

“You’re from America, Mr. Chandler?”

“Yes, ma’am. I am what is commonly referred to as a cowboy.”

“Really?” She arched a dark brow in response. “And is this a job one trains and applies for? Or is it more of a moniker you give yourself?”

“It’s an earned title.”

“Through cow related skills?”

“Mostly.” The corner of one side of his mouth quirked up slightly as he gestured to her book. “And you, ma’am? Are you a librarian of some sort?”

“Not a librarian, no. Though I am interested in reference information.”

“What sort of information is that?”

“Plant life. Egyptology. Taxidermy. Symbolism. Ancient languages. Psychological pursuits.”

“That’s a highly varied series of interests. What does one do with all of these combined areas of studies?”

“They all pertain to matters of a more metaphysical nature, actually.”

“Like a psychic?” He asked. “I saw one of those once, back in America. Said that my gramma was in the room smiling at me. I told her that wasn’t possible considering she was living up in Omaha at the time.”

She smothered her grin as best she could, turning her head slightly from him.

“I am sorry, ma’am, I didn’t mean to disparage your line of work.”

“No that’s quite alright. There are quite a few frauds amoungst my profession.”

“How am I to tell the legitimate ones from the frauds then? Any tips from a professional such as yourself?”

“Avoid any references to living relatives appearing as ghosts would be a good rule.”

“It’s not fair to tease an American, you know.” He grinned at her.

“I beg your pardon, sir. It was not my intention to make fun.”

“You’re forgiven, Miss Ives. Though I know it’s hard for you European types to dumb yourselves down enough to talk to us frontier folk. I’m afraid there’s not much time for fancy book learnin’ when you’re fordin’ streams and rustlin’ up cattle.”

“How does one rustle up cattle, exactly?”

“Oh, it’s just a little bit of rustlin’, actually. It mostly ropin’.”

She was fighting very hard to not let her reactions show, but this broke her, just for a second. She took in a breath to compose herself.

“Now I believe it is you who is teasing me, sir.” She said.

“I am sorry, ma’am. It’s a way of speaking that’s popular in America. It’s rather base, I’ll admit. Nothing like the elegant way you speak. You do have a rather elegant voice, if I may be so brazen to point out.”

“The product of lots of ‘book learning’ as you put it.”

“And if I may continue to be bold, might I say that you’re the most beautiful women I’ve seen since coming upon these shores.”

She dropped her eyes at this, lifting her chin just a trifle.

“Thank you, Mr. Chandler. Though it’s not quite proper for a gentleman to say such a thing to a lady.”

“I’m afraid I can not apologize for pointing out something as true as that, ma’am. Besides, I think we’ve already established that I am no gentleman. I am quite uncouth.”

“Uncouth? That’s quite a word for someone who has no book based knowledge of the world.”

“I’ve picked up some fancy words during my time here, actually. Words like ethereal, exquisite, enchanting.”

“I dare not think of what you will learn once you advance to the next letter of the dictionary, sir.”

“I know a few good words that begin with f, as well. Fetching, fine, flawless. I am more than willing to go through the whole alphabet to find words that describe you.”

“The word flattery comes to mind.”

“I hold these truths to be self evident. That’s from the Declaration of Independence, from America.”

“I am familiar with the document.”

“It’s a rather touchy subject to bring up here in Britain, I know. But I think you are of a more liberated mind frame, so I should be safe.”

“Do you wish to have a conversation about colonialism?”

“It seems a fairly lively topic for an American man and British lady to discuss, I think. Perhaps we can go for a bit of a walk together, and we can see if we can’t amend some of these international affairs.”

He stood then, bowing to her and offering her his hand. She waited just a moment, sizing him up with her bright blue eyes, and then put her book into her small bag and put her hand on his. She stood next to him and smiled.

“Shall I direct us, considering your lack of familiarity with the park?”

“That would probably be best, yes.”

As they walked through the park he told her a wild story about a shoot out he’d seen once between Calamity Jane and Sitting Bull. He told her about how he’d seen Jesse James leaving a bank once and how he’d once had dinner with Abraham Lincoln when he was a small boy.

“These are all true tales, sir?”

“Of course. I would never lie to a lady.”

____

 


	7. Chapter 7

Evening shadows were starting to fall when they got to the edge of the park and ventured onto the streets. As twilight settled over the city they walked closer and closer to one another until he offered her his arm.

“If I may be so bold, Miss Ives.” She gently wrapped her small hand in the crooked of his elbow. Ethan placed his own over it, and they walked on in silence.

He couldn’t help but look over at her, at her profile behind the pale blue veil. She looked like a hazy dream, her sharp features contrasting with the soft draping, the blue of her eyes made bluer still. She noticed his eyes on her and then dropped her gaze, a shy smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

He had to stop them then. He took her hand and pulled her into the shadows along the side of the street, pulling her to stand in front of him.

“I don’t think that this is quite proper, sir.” She smiled up at him. But he was done with games. The sincerity of the feelings within him burned and he had to see her, had to acknowledge it.

He quietly reached up and lifted the veil up with gentle hands. Her beautiful pure face, with its dusting of freckles, those all seeing eyes, the expressive mouth, they were all revealed to him. But it was more than this. That act of lifting the veil, the connotation of it suddenly hit him hard. It seemed implausible really, the idea of such a tradition, the normalcy of it, the purity of it, ever being possible for them. Yet in that moment, the echo of it was there and suddenly this idea, the thought of her as his bride, burst into vivid realness in his mind. He wondered if she had thought it too, seeing a flicker of want then sadness playing across her face. He knew that she didn’t think it was ever possible for her, that she believed herself barred from such normalities despite the freedom that they had both been granted. The idea of herself as a bride was so foreign to her that she never conceived it as possible. Was it though, Ethan wondered.

He smiled wistfully at her then, stroking her cheek with his knuckles.

“I love you, Vanessa.” He said in a voice thick with emotion. She turned into the touch to kiss his fingers.

“I love you too.” Her voice caught when she spoke. The truth of these words, the feeling of saying them out loud was still so new to both of them. Each time was like feeling the sun suddenly burst forth to light a place that had long been in darkness.

“Take me home.” She said softly, and he knew what she wanted then, what they both wanted. They needed the sanctity of just the two of them.

They had been so completely caught up that neither of them noticed where exactly they’d ended up. Coming out of the shadows and into the gaslight, Vanessa finally looked around. They’d wandered into a rather unsavory part of London, slumped figures in on the corner and men with their hats low walking briskly from corner to corner, looking over their shoulders. Ethan was just about to suggest they go a different way when he heard a voice behind them.

“What’s this? A couple of lovers lost in the dark?”

They both stilled immediately. As Ethan went to reach for his weapon, he saw three men approaching them from the front. The larger one in the middle gave Vanessa a violating sweep of his eyes.

“Ain’t she a sweet piece of meat.” Vanessa’s hand shot out to hold Ethan back.

“I should think wisely about the next few moments of your life, gentlemen.” She said in a tone that Ethan recognized instantly. It was the scorpion, deadly, posed to strike.

The men laughed heartily at this, and Ethan felt the one behind them stepping closer. He moved his hand to push back his jacket and rest on his gun.

“I would listen to the lady. I’ve seen what kind of damage she can do. It’s not something you should welcome into your life.”

“Well there, an American! Imagine a fine lady like yourself spending time with such a man.” The larger man huffed, approaching them even closer. “Perhaps you’re not such a fine lady after all. Maybe me and my boys find out.”

Before Ethan could respond, the man behind them had grabbed Vanessa, holding her head back with a dirty hand on her forehead so he could press a sharp small blade into the skin of her exposed throat. A deep, angry growl came out from deep within Ethan at the sight of his mate threatened so.

“Let her go.”

“How about instead you throw that fancy gun of yours over this way.” The larger man said. “And then maybe we let you go.”

“Or maybe you don’t and you get to watch me and my boys find out for sure whether or not this is a proper lady.” The man at Vanessa’s throat leered at Ethan, his lips twisted into a disgusting grin.

Ethan felt it then. He felt Vanessa in his mind, felt her intent. He knew almost instantly what it was that she was planning, and what he was to do. He looked into her eyes and saw no fear. Instead he saw what he could feel within himself, their dark powers curling up to strike.

“Like your mother, you mean?” Vanessa asked in cold tone.

“What did you say?” The man behind her’s voice quivered.

“Your mother. She was a fine lady. Brought you up herself. Wouldn’t allow a governess to care for you. Sat you on her knee every night and played with your little blond curls and told you that you were the only man she’d ever love.” Vanessa hissed it at him. “Of course all of the boys at school called you a sissy, mother’s little pet, and it was true. You were a weakling, coddled, pathetic. All of the things that your stepfather would end up calling you.”

“What the fuck is she talking about?” The larger man asked.

“About your friend here, of course. About how his stepfather came and stole his mother away from him. About how he cried and cried into his pillow every night because his mother didn’t want him to sit on her knee anymore.” She turned her head then to whisper to him in her most cruel, cutting voice. “But you made sure that she wouldn’t be able to love anyone, didn’t you? Waiting for her in the dark, and then grabbing her in the middle of the night, taking that broken bit of the crystal that you’d smashed in your rage and driving it into her heart again and again. Then the things you did to her after.”

Ethan watched as the man became bewildered and then terrified at his darkest truth being laid out by Vanessa, watched him recoil from her. The moment the knife was far enough away, Ethan pulled his gun out with lightening speed and aimed it at the man’s head.

“I believe that it would be in you gentlemen’s best interest to move along now.” Sensing the larger man going for a weapon, Ethan grabbed his other gun, hidden until now, and aimed it at him.

The four men backed off slowly, hands raised. Ethan gestured for Vanessa to come stand next to him. She went over to his side, and the two stood together, frighteningly intimidating with his cold, deadly gaze and her flashing teeth and snapping eyes.

“Go, you cowards!” she hissed at them and, filled with fear, they scattered.

The two predators stood as a terrifying union, watching them run off into the night, hackles raised, vicious in their bond.

____

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only two chapters left after this one!

Sir Malcolm returned in late summer, his face tanned as brown as a nut. Vanessa ran to him when he stepped into the house and he enveloped her in his embrace.

“Did you bring me anything?” She smiled up at him, keeping up the tradition.

“Aren’t I enough?”

“More than enough.” She hugged him again.

Sir Malcolm looked over her dark head at Ethan standing in the doorway of the parlour, happily watching the reunion. The older man recognized the change in him immediately, noticed the relaxed stance, the easy smile. When he looked at Vanessa again, he saw it there as well. They were both shining with love. He felt tears pricking at his eyes at this, so happy for the two of them. Words abandoned him for a moment as he took in the joy brightening all things around them. He pressed a kiss to Vanessa’s forehead, then looked over at Ethan again.

“Best to be shaking the hand of the man who’s entrusted you with the most valued thing in his life, my boy.”

Ethan ducked his head, smiling almost sheepishly. This boyish gesture made the man who had always seemed so weathered and scarred by life suddenly look young, like he was just experienced manhood for the first time. He shook the older man’s hand heartily as Vanessa stood in between them, beaming up at them both.

“I brought something back for each of you, actually. Let this dusty traveler set his things down and wash my journey from my face first, and then I’ll give you what I have for you, Vanessa.” He smiled enigmatically at Ethan then. “I’m afraid what I brought for you, Mr. Chandler, must wait to be given until later.”

Once his bags had been brought in, Sir Malcolm went upstairs to change. Ethan made coffee for them while Vanessa rather giddily stood next to him, teasing him and giggling like a carefree girl. Ethan could see how happy she was that Sir Malcolm was home and it made him feel so much contentment to see her, again, so free of her sadness. When they had all settled in the parlour, he watched as Sir Malcolm saw it too, watched as the man’s eyes took in how light in spirit she was now.

He gestured to the bag he’d brought in with him that rested at his feet and told Vanessa to open it. She sat down on the floor next to his feet and gingerly opened it. She pulled out a length of brilliant sapphire blue silk, smooth like water in her hands.

“I bought that on the banks of the Nile. The man who sold it to me said that this is ultramarine blue, made from lapis lazuli. It’s the exact colour of dress that Cleopatra wore when she rode her barge into Rome.”

“It’s so beautiful.” Vanessa laid it across her lap and turned towards Ethan, pulling some of it up to her throat. “What do you think, my love?”

“I believe I would throw over my Casaer for you.” They cheekily grinned at one another and again, Sir Malcolm marveled. Were these really the same two people who he had seen caught in the depths of evil, rigid in their constant control of dark impulses, who were more about survival than living life. The change was awe inspiring.

“I want you to have this made into a beautiful dress to wear to the ball that I am going to throw for you, Vanessa.” He said. “You see, my dear, I want you to arrive, formerly, to London. I think it’s time for you and all of your power and beauty to come and conquer it and its citizens, much as Cleopatra did with Rome.”

“Are you sure, Sir Malcolm?” She was trepidacious. “I haven’t behaved in a way that has endeared me to London society.”

“Then you must use all of the wit and charm at your disposal to show everyone just what they’ve been missing without you attending all of their fine social events.” He smiled up at Ethan then. “Having a charming American on your arm will probably help as well.”

Vanessa looked up at Ethan for a sign of reassurance, and received it immediately. He knew that Vanessa was feeling lonely, that when she’d been ill she’d been cut off from so many of the people she’d known growing up.

“I think that’s a wonderful idea.” Ethan said to Sir Malcolm. “I would love to be the Mark Anthony to Vanessa’s Cleopatra.”

“Then who is to be Casaer?” She joked.

“Better question is where are you going to find an asp on short notice.” Ethan winked at her and she giggled in response. The sound of this delighted, girlish tinkling made Sir Malcolm’s eyes widened. He reached down to where she sat at his feet and tenderly stroked her cheek.

“There you are, my girl.” He said softly. She looked up at him with eyes shining.

“Mr. Chandler, I don’t know if I will ever be able to thank you enough for what you’ve done.” Both of the men looked at her with love, and she beamed back at each of them.

“I don’t rightly know if I will ever be able to thank her for what she’s done for me either, Sir Malcolm.”

____

 

There was weeks of preparation involved for this ball that would happen at the height of the London season. It was time to breath life into the house again, to send light into all of the shadows and chase away any of the unhappy ghosts that lingered. The history of this place was rewritten, passed through the glow of joy radiating from all three of its inhabitants.

Vanessa took charge of the household, falling naturally into the role of the lady of the house. She hired staff then, a cook, kitchen maid, house maids, valets for each of the men and a lady’s maid for her. When Ethan jokingly complained that the house seemed awfully crowded, she’d laughed.

“Come the night of the ball you will see why this is all necessary. Besides, we need someone to gossip about the fact that we share a bed though we are unwed.”

She said it with no shame over how they were living as a couple. But again, he thought about her view of herself and of what their future was. He remembered lifting the veil from her face. He remembered looking up at her clad in shining white on the stairs the night of the opera. Suddenly this thought, this want, burst out inside him, growing stronger and stronger. He was so unsure of it. Was this what she ever wanted, what would this mean for them, how would it affect their bond, what other things would it open them up to. Tumbling through these thoughts he stumbled into something he’d never thought of before. He saw her, glowing with joy and cradling in her arms- but he couldn’t. The idea of it, the thought of it, the notion of her and him having that, it made him feel a stab of emotion through his chest. He didn’t know if it was joy, or fear, or sadness. It was so intense that he had to turn his mind from it.

As the weeks passed, he watched the house take shape as he never had seen it before. First the ballroom, long deserted, was cleaned, shined and refurbished, until it gleamed with its own golden light. Suddenly the sheets on their bed were freshly laundered every day, his clothes meticulously cared for, shoes shined, shirts ironed. Their meals were quite fancy affairs, delicious, beautifully plated food placed before them at every meal. They ate in the dining room now, which had been set up properly, all of Sir Malcolm’s things moved to his office. The older man had relinquished the space happily.

“I’m no longer a bachelor alone in this house.” He said contentedly.

He and Vanessa worked on the guest list for days. The list of attendees had to be short, for the room was not overly large. The limited number of guests gave the ball a sense of exclusivity. Once the invitations were sent, word of this event taking place in the mysterious home of Sir Malcolm, where all sorts of gossip had originated, spread like wildfire. All of this combined to make it almost instantly one of the most coveted invitations of London society.

In the weeks before hand, Vanessa had dozens of callers. Girls that had come out in the same season as her and Mina came over to have tea, bringing their friends with them. Word went out about the beautiful and mysterious Miss Ives now staying at Sir Malcolm Murray's home. Stories about her cameo like face, her elegant poise and her sharp wit went round, along with tell of her companion who was also staying at Sir Malcolm’s, a devastatingly handsome American with more charm than seemed proper. The ladies blushed at his roguish greetings and watched with envious eyes as he spoke gently to Vanessa. There was a great amount of buzz about who this man was and about his relationship to Miss Ives. Many women believed that they had seen her with this same gentlemen at the opera some months back. No one had known for sure if it was them, for the couple at the opera that night almost seemed unreal, a dreamt up romantic vision. Despite the proprietary touches and the lingering looks from Mr. Chandler, she wore no engagement ring. This gossip soon turned into a sensation, and all were clamouring to see this thrillingly improper couple together the night of the ball.

For his part, Ethan was busy each day learning as much of the rules and etiquette as possible. While Vanessa taught him more of the dances he needed to know, Sir Malcolm helped the with instructions on deportment. He showed Ethan the names of the attendees, explaining the titles of the higher class guests, how they should be addressed, and the importance of the Marquess who was coming. He also told him how he was to attend to Vanessa throughout the evening and what the meaning of this level of attention from him would have to those attending.

What Sir Malcolm wasn’t saying about the propriety of Ethan’s level of intimacy with Vanessa was what became more and more apparent to him. He knew that Vanessa cared not what those who attended thought of her and his relationship. But this idea of how they were going to be outwardly perceived was another in a series of realizations about what he was to Vanessa, about who they were together.

Late into the evening the night before the ball, Ethan and Sir Malcolm were alone in his study. Vanessa had retired early to make sure she was rested for the long day ahead of them, and the two men had sat talking in front of the fire for hours. Ethan found the ability eventually to form the question that had been bouncing around his head for weeks. Sir Malcolm didn’t answer, instead reached out to clasp his shoulder.

“Custom would say that you should ask me for permission first, but I think we both know that Vanessa is a free spirit who needs permission from no one.” He was beaming with pride now and Ethan felt his heartbeat thundering with the possibility of what was about to happen.

“Now, my boy, let me show you what I brought for you from Africa.”

____

 


	9. Chapter 9

The night of ball Grandage Place glowed with excitement, with an infusion of life that it had long since been missing, full of people and voices as it hadn’t been in years. A steady stream of carriages came and dropped off guests, ladies and gentlemen in their finest were admitted to the brightly lit ballroom where music was already being played. As they waited for the guest of honour to join them, the buzz of voices intensified. The murmur of excitement heightened even more when some unexpected guests arrived, including dukes and duchesses, and quite a few lords and ladies. Having so many members of the aristocracy at an event for a woman with no title was an indication of how important this evening, and the lady herself, was becoming. Everyone was here to see Vanessa, with her companion by her side.

Vanessa appeared at the top of the staircase like a goddess looking down from the heavens. She needed no cue to announce her arrival. As she descended, the crowd slowly turned and watched in awe, voices trailing off across the room until it was completely silent, and all were held in her thrall. She did have an echo of that same magical allure that Cleopatra had had all of those centuries ago, the mix of the exotic, the elegance, the poise, and the mysterious. The way that she moved spoke of a self assurance beyond the need for the validation of the crowd. Those who watched her suddenly felt as if they were honored to be allowed to see her. The deep blue silk against her pale skin made her look like an ivory sculpture come to life. She wore a thick diamond necklace, high on her long neck, and her dress cut daringly low, her breasts pressed high and pale, her arms bare. The dress trailed down the stair behind her, like water spilling. Her eyes blazed like the deep blue of sapphires as they looked out at all of the upturned faces, then came to rest on the gentleman who had walked to the end of stairs, waiting for her.

This handsome, rather burly man was dressed in full white tie, his impressively broad shoulders almost straining against the black wool of his tailed coat. The tan of his skin was heightened by the contrast to the starched whiteness of his collar and shirt, giving him the look of a roguish pirate who’d donned the clothes of a gentleman. He had not given the room any of his attention, however much they were looking at him. He had eyes only for the woman now standing in front of him, reaching out his hand to hers. Breaking her air of cool aloofness, she smiled broadly at him, a smile which he instantly returned. She placed her hand in his and he lead her into the ballroom. There was a murmur of awed excitement as they entered, the crowd parting around them as they walked towards the middle of the floor. With a smooth elegance, he guided her by her hand to stand in front of him and took her by the waist. A long single note came from the violin and then the song began. They fell into the steps of the dance with total ease, each anticipating the other’s movements instinctively, gliding over the floor as if they were one. They danced the first waltz together much as they had danced together that night in the small cabin on the moors. Like that night, everything around them fell away until it was just the two of them, moving around and around, perfectly in step, the other’s joy filled face making them feel like this was exactly where they were meant to be.

Ethan and Vanessa were introduced to society together that evening. The novelty of this charismatic American with the sharp witted Miss Ives proved utterly enthralling for all who attended. Together, the pair spoke to and greeted every guest, Ethan’s charm and Vanessa’s grace mixing to spin an air of merriment and ease over the gathering. Vanessa danced a waltz with the Doctor, and with Mister Lyle, but when some of the other men in attendance tried their luck by asking if she would favor them with a dance Vanessa politely smiled and told them that all of her dances had been promised to Mr. Chandler that evening. The intent of their relationship became clear very quickly. As the night progressed, they received many invitations when those in attendance realized that they wanted this unique and fascinating couple to come to their events, making them society’s latest fascination.

Eventually though, Ethan and Vanessa focused only on each other. As the night grew late, they took to the floor again, and danced waltz after waltz together, completely enraptured with the other. Their connection, supernatural in its strength, seemed to cast a spell over all who attended the ball that night. The crowd around them initially tried to hide their eyes, to not stare openly at the couple moving so smoothly around the room together but eventually it was too riveting to look away. They watched as Ethan spoke to her in a tone too quiet for them to hear, saying things that caused this poised, dignified lady to react with complete abandonment, throwing her head back with laughter as he grinned with delight at her. The sound of her laughter echoed through the ballroom as it had the theatre the night of the opera, the light, joyful sound of a woman in love.

Sir Malcolm was finally able to steal Vanessa away for a dance when the ball had stretched into the wee hours. He had watched with so much joy and pride as she’d charmed all of London society, but more importantly, as she’d beamed with love for the man who’d been by her side all evening. This was more than he had ever dreamed for for her. He thought about the things he’d seen her go through, the pain she’d suffered, the darkness she’d carried, and then he saw the glowing face looking back at him, at the clearness in her eyes, the openness of her smile. He thought about what he knew was in the future for her, things she was yet unaware of, and felt his chest swell with happiness. He never believed he would see this moment yet here he was, with her as she reached the height of joy.

“Have you had a good night, my dear?” He asked.

“It’s been lovely, Sir Malcolm. Thank you so much for all of this.”

He paused for a moment, thinking about the thing that had always been present in his mind when he was with her, something he had known yet not spoken directly to her her whole life. He thought about the tiny baby she’d been, about that first moment he’d seen his own eyes looking back at him in this child. He could never speak the truth of this. Even up until then, he couldn’t tell Vanessa the reality of his fatherly feelings for her. He had never wanted to disgrace her mother in her eyes, but now he realized that it was beyond that. He wanted her to know this part of herself.

“You know, Vanessa…” He started, his eyes full of so much emotion.

“I know.” She said before he could finish, looking at him with her eyes swimming with tears. “You don’t have to say it. I know who I am, who I have always been. And I know who you are to me, Father.”

____

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the final chapter of the series. I wrote an afterword that's posted separately as the next chapter, please check it out. It's about the series, the Penny Dreadful fandom, and fandom as a whole, and a place where I thank all of you profusely. 
> 
>  
> 
> [I've also made a playlist for The Lovers which you can find here.](http://homicidalbrunette.tumblr.com/post/138568226992/playlist-for-the-lovers-these-are-all-songs-that)

The sun was rising by the time the last guest left. Sir Malcolm had long since retired to his room, where, unbeknownst to them, he had laid in bed and fallen asleep to the sound of joy and music below him, so happy at his home being filled with life again. 

Ethan found Vanessa sitting on a plush chair in the corner of the now empty ballroom, her shoes kicked off and her stocking feet up on a chair next to her. He lifted her feet and sat down, putting them in his lap.

“Sore toes?” He asked, giving them a squeeze. She murmured a pleased noise at the touch and stretched out her tired, sore limbs. 

“So what do you think of the social graces now, my love?” She asked.

“Quite the set up y’all have here, I will say that. Though I can’t say I understand exactly who was a bigger deal, the Marquess or the Duke, and why it seemed to matter to everyone so much that they were both here. Sir Malcolm tried to explain it to me before but I still don’t quite get it.”

“Honestly, I don’t believe I have ever understood it myself.” 

“I will say that the music here might not be as exciting as the honky tonks back home, but the dancing is just as fine.”

“I believe I would enjoy a honky tonk.” She said, sitting forward to grin at him. 

“I believe you would.” He leaned forward to press a kiss to her smiling lips. “Some day soon I take you to my world and show you the ranking hierarchy there.”

“I am curious as to what the American equivalent of a duke is.”

“That I couldn’t rightly answer. But I will tell you that we have some mighty corpulent mayors. Perhaps that would be the same thing.” 

“That duke was rather portly.” They laughed together. 

“Seems to me, though, that we’re going to be mighty busy in the coming months, what with all those ladies insisting that you attend their parties. After tonight, you are the latest in fashion, Miss Ives.”

“You and I both are, apparently. They were all equally taken by you.” 

“I suppose so.”

“Of course they were.” Her expression softened into adoration. “Such a handsome, wonderful man like you.”

She reached out to touch his cheek. He held himself still under her touch, meeting her loving gaze with his own. This was the moment. This was the perfect moment. He gathered his nerve and pressed forward into the unknown once again, and hoped that she would meet him. 

“You know, Sir Malcolm brought more back from Africa than just that beautiful silk you’re wearing.” He said, his voice soft and a touch nervous.

“Did he give you what he brought for you?” She asked with gentle curiosity.

“He brought me something to give to you.” 

Ethan reached into his inner jacket pocket and pulled out a small velvet box. Vanessa gasped quietly as she felt her heart to begin to race like a hummingbird’s. He reached out for her hand and she extended it to him, trembling. He placed the box in her open palm and took a deep calming breath.

“Why don’t you open it and see for yourself, darlin’.”

She was so filled with nerves that she could barely pull the lid off the tiny box. In there was a large, beautifully cut ruby, like a large drop of blood in an intricately designed gold setting. She stared at it in mute disbelief. He knew that she was unsure in this terra incognita and that he would have to be the one to guide her. 

“I know that you and I, that we aren’t a traditional couple. I know that it’s always been more important that we each know where we stand with each other then what other people think. So that’s not what this is for. I don’t need to tell the world what we are. I know that my heart is yours and that’s all that matters. But I want to honor you and your place in my life. I want you to have this as a reminder of what we’ve been through together. Of the blood that binds both of us to the good and the bad. And the blood that we’ve split for one another. That’s all this has to mean, darlin’.”

She was unable to answer, tears now dropping off her thick lashes and down her cheeks. He took the box from her and removed the ring. Taking her left hand, he slipped the ring onto her fourth finger, then raising the small trembling hand to press a kiss to her knuckles, like a chivalrous knight honoring his lady. 

The red gleamed against her skin, bold and visceral and beautiful. She looked at it still in silence, unable to trust her voice. He felt his nervousness amp up at her quiet. He was so worried that this was going to be too much, that the implications of it were more than he had the right to ask for, that he was asking her to be something she never wished to be. He wanted to be sure that she knew that this ring meant only that he loved her, and nothing else if it wasn’t what she wanted. 

She stared at the ring for a long time, her mind working through all the things racing through it. Finally, when he thought he could bear it no more, right before he was about to apologize and take it all back, she looked up at him with trembling chin and a tearful smile.

“Will you marry me, Mr. Chandler?” 

This was beyond anything he was expecting. Sheer joy filled him in that moment and without thought, he pulled her up into his arms. She laughed with pure happiness as he spun her around and around on the floor. He finally set her down on her stocking feet, so small in front of him, and held her beautiful, flushed face in his hands.

“Yes, Miss Ives.” His voice breaking with emotion. “It would be my honor.”

He kissed her then, and again, and again. He gathered her up into his arms, holding her so close, feeling her holding him just as tightly. They stayed locked in this embrace for a long while, basking in the elation of this moment in their lives. 

They both laughed when they hear the noise of her stomach growling. He reluctantly let her go then, reaching out to hold the hand that wore his ring.

“Want some of those fancy pastel cookies over there for breakfast?” He asked, eliciting another laugh from her.

“Macaroons.” She corrected him, nodding. She sunk down to the floor now, her knees too weak with emotion to carry her any farther. Her dress pooled out around her, making her look like she was floating in a deep, beautiful sea. He came back to her with the three tiered plate of macaroons and sat on the parquet floor next to her. He reached over and gathered her to him, letting her rest back against his chest. She curled her feet up under her and began to eat a lavender one. He was quiet for a long moment.

“We’re at quite a higher level than the cellar floor tonight, aren’t we?” He said. 

She went still at this. She’d been thinking it as well, about the difference between the two of them that existed in this room in comparison to the two that existed in in the darkness in that chamber below. 

“We are indeed, my love.” She tucked her head under his chin. She reached down and untied the crimson ribbon that was wrapped about her wrist, holding her dance card that had his name on every line. Taking his left hand, she wrapped the ribbon around his ring finger and tied it in a knot in a most intimate handfasting. He watched her do this with so much emotion swelling up inside him, tears forming in his eyes. This beautiful woman, his Vanessa, wanted him, all of him. It was more than he had ever dared ask for. 

She entwined their left hands and held her ring up before both of them. “I wonder what the wolf intends to give his scorpion to compete with this?”

“I believe the wolf’s already given his scorpion a symbol of its commitment.” He said, reaching up to move the glittering, icy pristineness of her diamond necklace to reveal the fresh bite mark on her throat. He bent his head to press a kiss to it, feeling her shudder in his arms. 

He took her then, on the shining wooden floor where the finest people in London had just danced. He took her with the utmost tenderness, much as he had the first time, with all of the adoration and reverence and devotion that he had for her filling him up and pouring into her. She dove into all of this love and mixed it with all of the feelings inside her, creating a wellspring of love between them. They both peaked at the same time, their cries mingling. He collapsed onto her, weak with love and spent pleasure, yet already beginning to feel the pull of desire again. He pushed back to look at her there lying on the floor beneath him, the blood red ruby on her finger gleaming. They were as Adam and Eve at the dawn of all things, full of unimaginable amounts of excited curiosity about the new world around them. 

Dawn was breaking in the room now, flooding them with golden light. The first birds’ songs could be heard outside the window. The world was waking up, starting anew. 

“Good morning, Ethan.”

“Good morning, Vanessa.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a prequel to this series called [Sleeping Beauty](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5359436) as well as a sequel called [Wedding.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6628774/chapters/15168202) There are also two short stories set in the universe called [Diamonds and Pearls](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6628774/chapters/15951589) and [Watching a Beauty Woman Laugh,](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6899806) followed by a two part story called [Grief.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7362892) The series ends with [Grandpa.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7332376)


	11. Afterword

I’ve refrained from saying anything while I’ve been posting this series because I wanted it to speak for itself, and for it to be its own voice. But because this story is so important to me I wanted to say something here at the end of it to acknowledge what this has meant to me and about what fandom in general means to all of us who are a part of it.

I know as an older member of fandom that fangirls and fanfiction take a lot of shit. As is the case when any time a woman is in control of her sexuality, especially women under 20 and over 30, it’s diminished and demeaned. Women of all ages, but especially younger and older women, are considering beyond sexual availability in many ways, so whenever we show our desires and our passions it makes men uncomfortable. But this actually creates something amazing. Because this is the land where anti-feminist men fear to tread, fandom is like a planet where almost exclusively women live and we can do and say whatever we want about our desires. The freedom in fandom as a female is amazing, and I never want to leave it. 

Fanficiton is where I found out I was queer, that women could be sexual, be in control of their desires, and be unashamed of them. Some of the fanfiction I have read has been as good as the source material, sometimes better. I have encountered fanfiction authors who are as talented as some best-selling authors. I say this as decades-long avid reader of fiction, both original and fan-created. I am grateful for this space. And I am grateful for all the female-identifying, male-identifying, non-binary, queer, straight, trans, cis, bi, old, young, all of the fans out there. 

I wrote this story during one of the most difficult times in my life. This series is my attempt to work things out inside my head, work through big issues that I was dealing with every day, like what I defined love as, what I considered commitment to be, what I thought it meant to be a woman, to be a man, what our responsibilities were to the ones we love, how I felt about sex and desire, about choices and consequences, about trust and romance and emotional connections. I know that this is a fanfiction, but for me it was therapy. I used the safety of this space to come to terms with what was happening to me and my life and who I actually see myself as.

I wrote the 50,000+ words of this series over the course of 11 weeks. Before I began this story in September, I hadn’t written any fiction longer than a maybe a dozen pages in about 10 years. I’d suffered from intense psychological writer’s block since I dropped out of college, where I had spent 3 years studying to get my BFA in creative writing. Being a writer was always who I was. Writing was what I have always done, since I could put letters on paper. After I had to leave school for medical reasons, I felt like I didn’t deserve to write anymore, that it was something that I had tried to achieve success doing and failed. Whenever I would try and write, fiction especially, the feelings of inadequacy and self doubt would crush me. I never finished any story I started. I would get bogged down in editing and re-editing and re-editing, overthinking everything.

I’ve always gone to fandom for respite during every difficult time in my life and this summer was no different. I rewatched the first two seasons of Penny Dreadful in August, right after my life fell apart. I was in the process of ending a 10 year long relationship and need to point my brain at something else besides all of the feelings roaring in my head. After I rewatched the series, the idea of Vanessa telling Ethan about her and Mina being together popped into my head.

I’ve had plot ideas for fanfiction and regular fiction pop into my head many times during my writing drought. Ultimately I would end up writing them in my head and not down on paper, developing story lines in my mind and not having the courage to actually write them out and see where they would go. This time, however, everything in my life had changed. I had my own voice back. So the idea of actually writing this scene out was just another in a series of new things I was doing. of ways of expressing myself. I told myself to just write out what I was thinking, not edit it, and leave it. 

The story started to grow from there. I, like most of you out there, thought a lot about the dynamic between Ethan and Vanessa, about how it was in the second season and about what it was going to be like when they were together again. I thought about the metaphor of darkness inside us keeping us from trusting and opening ourselves up to other people, about fear and the need to be always in control stopping us from connecting. I thought about how the act of overcoming this is what I believe love is, reaching out over that divide to another person and being met in the middle. 

Beyond my own personal emotional journey, I thought about the stories I had read throughout my life that continue to stay with me. One of my biggest and most important literary influences in terms of a male/female relationship is Rhett and Scarlett in Gone with the Wind. Their dynamic is very similar to Ethan and Vanessa’s and I was naturally inspired by this parallel. I put in some references to GWTW in the story, like Ethan waking Vanessa from her dream about being chased. This is also the reason why it is impossible for me to write anything but a happy ending, because GWTW’s ending has broken my heart since I first saw the movie when I was 8. 

I also thought a lot about what I knew of the Victorian Era, mainly from one of my other big fandoms, Sarah Waters’ novels Tipping the Velvet and Fingersmith. I love the duality of this time, the properness and the pornagraphic and what it says about human nature. Penny Dreadful does an amazing job with this. 

My main reference was the show itself. Beyond how Ethan and Vanessa are written and filmed, there is the way that Josh Hartnett and Eva Green play their scenes together. I watched their reactions to one another the most, even more than what they were saying. It’s the way they say the lines and how they react to what the other is saying and doing. My main inspirations were all the great moments in ‘Little Scorpion’, as well as other scenes like them killing a man together (her with her stinger and him with his wolf bite), smoking together, the vulnerability that Vanessa shows to him, the shots of Ethan’s concern and natural need to protect her. I love this idea of curses not being curses when you’re with who you’re meant to be with. 

I also wanted this story to mainly be about Ethan and Vanessa, to always be from their point of view, to be the world immediately around them. I purposely avoided referencing technical aspects, or practicalities. I wanted this to have this feeling of it just being her and him, that they were all that composed the universe, and we were living within their emotions and minds. 

Part of what always stopped me from writing out stories in between seasons was the fear that as soon as the show starts again, everything I had written would become non-canonical. What I have learned from reading fanfiction over the last 5 years especially, is that the stories here can be so well thought out, that it actually creates a legit alternative universe that makes just as much sense, sometimes more so, than canon itself. I know this because there are shows out there where the fanfiction I have read is just as real to me as the canon is (hence one of my favorite terms, headcanon.) I hope that I was able to do that here, to create a universe that fits in seamlessly with Penny Dreadful’s first two seasons. 

I am not sure if I am done with this alt universe I’ve created. It feels finished to me, but I do still have ideas, scenes that pop up in this timeline, so it’s possible that I might write more for it. I know I’m not done with Penny Dreadful as a whole, though, and hope to be just as inspired by next season as I was by the first two. 

I have my confidence back now as a writer because of this story, so I know that I can write out any of the ideas I have very easily - and of course it helps to know that I have an audience who will read what I‘m writing. Having this confidence back is amazing. I once again can slip into the flow of writing, have words pour out of me while I am completely lost in the world I’m creating. That feeling, the act of creating, is for me one of the best feelings in the world. This confidence has already made my life better, because of this story, I felt brave enough to pitch non-fiction ideas, leading to me getting a personal essay published on Vice, which you can read here https://broadly.vice.com/en_us/article/burning-the-empress-card-when-my-parents-tried-to-exorcise-my-gay-demons.

I have been a part of a lot of fandoms over the years and the Penny Dreadful has one of the nicest group of fans I’ve come across in a while, intelligent, kind, with no sense of hierarchy or power struggles, just people talking about something they love. Thank you to all of you who read my story, commented, gave kudos, recommended it, re-read it, thought about it, enjoyed it. You all have made what was a very difficult time in my life easier, and opened a door I thought locked forever. You all helped me find my words again, and I appreciate it more than I can say. 

I’ve made a playlist of the songs I was listening to while coming up with the plot and scenes for this series, [you can check out my post about it on my tumblr here](http://homicidalbrunette.tumblr.com/post/138568226992/playlist-for-the-lovers-these-are-all-songs-that) and [listen to it on youtube.](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL8kZSf2_IYOf-IdS9MjC3LOfZVC6KvbKx) It’s a mix of the sublime and the ridiculous, mainly overwrought R’n’B ballads from the 90’s and rock songs about fucking. And yes, Ginuwine’s Pony is on there.

[ You can also look at things I have posted in relation to the series here on my tumblr.](http://homicidalbrunette.tumblr.com/tagged/Penny+Dreadful/)

Please feel free to message me, either here on AO3 or at suabeille@gmail.com, I loved to hear your thoughts about the series. 

I'm on [tumblr as homicidalbrunette ](http://homicidalbrunette.tumblr.com/), on [twitter as suicideblonde,](https://twitter.com/suicideblonde) on [instagram](https://www.instagram.com/jeanjeanieramsay/) as jeanjeanieramsay and [ on facebook as jeanjeanieramsay](https://www.facebook.com/jeanjeanieramsay)


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